There was a strange sort of oscillation as I played for about five and a half hours. My head would slowly creep into mindlessness as I neared a state where I felt like I could almost doze off and then rise again. My memory is a little fuzzy, but I have a vague recollection of the world dimming around me as this happened like some kind of sunrise-sunset confined to my tiny little room.
So I didn't sleep, which I tried to offset with eating carbs in the form of toast, and then at four I went to the store to pick up the necessary supplies which basically amounted to cat food, medicine and some Jello I assumed she needed for teaching or something. I found when I returned that I got the wrong kind of Jello. I claimed that she had never specified which kind, but that was a lie. I remembered her telling me, but in driving the few short minutes to the store I found that it was incresingly possible that my brain had concocted the entire conversation.
It's happened before when I've been sleep deprived. One of two things happens. I either begin to hallucinate and shapes move around me, or my brain has trouble filtering the thoughts and images that occur in my head with the ones that occur in front of my eyes. At first it tends to be somewhat amusing, but it quickly turns terrifying.
There was a redheaded cashier manning the self-checkout lines whom I had never seen before. She made me happy, because while Tops is suffering no shortage of cute cashiers, they had started to get a little stale. Frusterated with the Jello error that had come about due to my tenuous grip on reality, I intended to use said checkout lines to get out of Tops as fast as possible with the correct Jello. The only problem with my plan is that I found that tops does not have self-checkout lines. Or a redheaded cashier.
In spite of my building frustration and the still present feelings of impending doom, I drove home carefully. It was strange because at that point I had only been awake a little over twenty-six hours, not exactly a long stretch of time, especially by my standards. The drive home was uneventful aside from the fact that I kept thinking the road signs were leaning towards my car and going thirty felt like I was going eighty. I think I was going thirty.
It was kind of a pain in the ass to carry in three bags of cat food along with cat litter, gatorade, and the new boxes of Jello when the paradoxical nature of my situation struck me. If I hadn't actually brought the groceries inside, there was no real way of knowing that I got the wrong Jello. I managed to get everything inside without dropping anything, but upon attempting setting them down, I realized there was a mess all over the counter, and that it was blood. My blood. I wasn't sure what had happened, but the fact that there was no butter to be found in the house, a crimson-stained half eaten piece of bread on the counter, and a messy pain in my arm gave me a good idea. That explained the redhead I think.
I think I cleaned it up pretty well without having any idea if I cleaned anything up at all. Right now it's pretty close to hour forty if my math is right, which it often is, and I've still felt no desire to lay down. In fact I'm rather terrified as the building feeling of dread has all but consumed me now. It's like approaching the aftermath of a car accident, shielded from any gore, hoping someone is still alive, but knowing what you're going to eventually stumble upon...and with no release of finding the body, just the constant inexorable building of disgust and terror. But I need sleep and sleep I shall. Whatever is wrong with me, if it can't be killed by logic and reason, than it shall be killed by alcohol.
Edit - Making this more obvious since people are apparently incapable of scrolling...or reading...
No reason. Just felt like writing something completely random. Pretty much the only truth in the above is that I went to the store and fucked up the Jello.